Death
by jordancekismet
Summary: After Fred's death, the story of how the two people that loved him most moved on. Just a piece of a story I was writing but never finished.
1. Chapter 1

So I started a story called "Collage" featuring the romance of Fred and Rian, my OC, and their lives together. However, I wrote the beginning, the end, and random things in the middle. I want to finish it one day but majoring in dance and neuroscience as an undergrad doesn't leave you much time. However, I really like the ending, and just wanted to share it. It's sort of abstract, because it has a 200 page backstory hidden on my hard drive, but hopefully it'll still be enjoyable. I'd appreciate any feedback, if you feel like giving it, and maybe check out the first few chapters of "Collage" that are uploaded. I've divided the ending into four chapters, so it's easier to read. Enjoy!

I do not own any of Harry Potter, and I only own the character Rian. Everything else, fortunately, belongs to Ms. J.K. Rowling.

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><p>RPOV<p>

I searched the throng of Weasleys, but didn't see his form. Mrs. Weasley was running toward me, and she enveloped me in a hug, checking me for injuries, tears in her eyes.

"Mrs. Weasley…what…"

"Are you alright dear? Nearly everyone's accounted for…did you lose Fred? We can't seem to find him anywhere…"

"He…he's not here?" I asked, my lips numb. "We split up at the beginning...I saw him a bit ago..."

And then I saw Percy stumbling through the entrance, a limp figure with shocking red hair to match his own in his arms. And I just knew.

A feeling of shock hit my body at once; I grew very cold, and immediately a rush of heat covered me as I swayed, my head spinning. The whole world seemed to topple over as Percy reverently lay his beautiful, limp body down on the ground in front of his family. Mrs. Weasley collapsed on top of her son's stomach, sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn't stand it; the pain and confusion. I fell, and my palms slammed into the ground reflexively to catch myself. My heart itself was screaming, trying to tear itself out of my chest, trying to find some form of relief. Each blood vessel was pulsing, ready to burst; every inch of skin stinging and bruised; everything the exact opposite of what it should be.

No, no, no, no, no! This wasn't happening.

I crawled again toward his body. His _body_. That couldn't be just a body. That was still Fred, it was still _my_ Fred. He was still there, he had to be. Because I couldn't lose him, not now. Not now, when our kids were on the way, when we were just married, when I loved him more than anything, when I needed him more than air. I stared down at my love, and felt an earth-altering pain as I looked into his dark brown eyes; eyes that were always filled with whatever emotion he'd been feeling. Now…now they were blank. Unreadable. Fred was unreadable. He had to be unreadable because he couldn't be…he just couldn't be. It was just another prank, and I just had to solve the puzzle.

The pain coursing through me was much, much deeper than physical, on a level I never even knew existed. I groped for Fred's hand, and found it, clutching it to my chest with both hands. Disbelieving, I murmured his name like somehow, maybe, there was a way he could hear me. The familiar formation of his name on my lips comforted me and I could swear I saw his eyes flicker once or twice, enough to give me hope to continue. I pressed my mouth to his knuckles. The gray dust rubbed onto my lips, and I could feel the gritty texture as they closed.

"Fred," I murmured, lips quivering, as I cupped his face in my hand, tears dripping onto his unanimated face, knowing deep down that it was _never_ going to be filled with life again. I clutched his hand, nearly crushing it. He hated that, he would have woken up for that. "Fred, love, c'mon. W-wake up. Pl-please Fr-Fred."

"Rian?" asked Fred, but not from below me. My head shot up, but it was only George, running across the room, only seeing me. He didn't yet know.

"Fred, wake up," I repeated obstinately, my voice cracking on every word, tears flowing faster. "Look, George is on his way over here. Come on, Fred."

"Fred?" George's soft voice came from behind me. He knelt down next to me, and grabbed his brother's shoulders, staring in confusion. He pressed his fingers roughly against Fred's neck, searching for a pulse, then bent over, listening for a breath. George started to shake him. Droplets of blood hit the stone floor and I saw a gaping, misshapen hole in the back of Fred's head. I reached toward it, to protect it from hitting the ground as George lowered him down. When I brought my hand back, it was completely covered in his blood, as well as bits of white. I wasn't sure exactly what it meant, but I knew it was very, very bad.

"George," I whispered, showing him my hand.

George blanched, his face turning grey, and then shook his head. "Fred, wake up. Wake up, Fred! Stop joking, this isn't funny, not funny at all!" said George, an almost angry look on his face. His despair nearly made me hopeful; I was ready for Fred's eyes to open at any minute, a grin on his face. And I felt the crashing despondency again, as George continued to shake him, and nothing happened. I pressed Fred's still warm hand to my face, closing my eyes. I knew the rest of his family was closing in on us, I knew because of the light and the tears that hit the stone floor, sounding like bullets. But it didn't feel real. Everything outside of George, Fred, and I...everything else felt like a shadow world, not worth noticing. Or maybe we three were the shadow world.

"Rian," said George quietly and suddenly, slowly lowering his brother's body back down and sitting back on his heels, one shaking hand still on his brother's head.

"No," I said brokenly, staring at him. "N-no."

The note of finality in George's voice, accompanied with the static tone, was enough to make me fall back. George cried silently at Fred's head.

"Fred. Fred, Fred, Fred, Fred, Fred," I sobbed. I wanted to rip my hair out, wanted to pull each brick out of the ground. I wanted to die. I saw the cold, flat look in Fred's eyes and my heart contracted and another spasm of pain filled me. The cool air seemed suddenly suffocating and I moaned quietly as another wave of disbelief and anguish swept over me. I felt nothing but internal destruction.

It was like a violation of nature, him…leaving. Fred was vivacious in the most literal sense of the word-he _breathed_ life into everything around him. It was akin to the end of something like sound. Or sun. Or air. I couldn't imagine a world without those, just as I couldn't imagine a world without Fred. I buried my head in my hands, my palms making imprints on my eyelids. My tears slid down my hands and the rest of the world was so silent to me that I could hear them hit the ground. Each drop was like a mantra; _gone...gone...he's gone...gone...gone..._There had to be something I could do. Just because no one had ever figured it out before didn't mean that I couldn't. His face was still warm, his soft brown eyes looking forever upward. I closed my eyes and replaced his body with a living Fred. Injured maybe, or simply sleeping. Opening my eyes took a lifetime of effort, an effort that went unrewarded. Fred was still gone.

I wasn't aware of ever getting up, or leaving the Great Hall, but a change in the light made me realize that I was standing back on the grounds, near the entrance. Charlie had his arm under my shoulders, supporting me, and I saw his face streaked with tears. I turned my head a bit to the left and saw George supported the same way by Bill. And George looked…terribly old. He was crumpled and looked like the entire weight of the world was on his back. Why should George have to lose his twin, the person who knew him best, after they'd been inseparable since birth? Why should I have to lose my soul mate? Why should I lose him after only a few short years? Why should the Weasley family lose their incredible son and brother? Why was this allowed? I wanted Fred to be a father more than I wanted to be a mother. I wanted to grow old with Fred. I wanted to have grooves in old fingers from our wedding rings; the image of Fred with a pure white beard from our sixth year was stuck in my mind. Fred would never be old enough to have a beard, never see his children, never kiss me goodnight again, never joke with his brother again.

Yet another sob caught in my chest and I pulled out of Charlie's grip and stumbled toward George. Ignoring Bill, I threw my arms around George, and he unsteadily held me. He wasn't holding me to help me, like Charlie had been, he was holding onto me for dear life, because neither of us knew what else to do. And our own pain and grief seeped into each other as he leaned his face against my head and I leaned against his chest, and we both sobbed uncontrollably at the injustice in the world.

It didn't matter that Voldemort had won; that Harry was dead in Hagrid's arms in front of us. Nothing mattered anymore, except that Fred wasn't coming back; that we'd have to live the rest of our lives without Fred. Suddenly we were severely pulled apart by Charlie.

"What are you doing?" I asked tearfully. George was blinking at something in the distance. Charlie was saying something to me but I wasn't listening, instead looking at George, who spun around suddenly.

"Harry's alive," said George fiercely. I glanced around, and sure enough Harry was now active, leading the battle.

"He's alive," I said slowly. He was alive, and even though Fred was...even though Fred wasn't here, there was still a chance. I'd be damned if I let a single Death Eater live. I looked around me, awakened with a primal anger and found people locking into battle. This time however, we seemed to have the upper hand. Our loss and struggle all seemed to awaken a fight in us that we hadn't had previously. I found the nearest Death Eater.

"Avada Kedavra!" I screamed at him, and was surprised to see him fall to the ground. I felt a terrible satisfaction with his death as I looked around. Despite the satisfaction, every heartbeat was a stinging pain; each cycle of blood throughout my body increased the circulation of a deadly and painful poison. Each moment of satisfaction was wrought with a sobering anger. My blood was dripping into my eyes, and I wouldn't have noticed, except that I could hardly see.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own any of Harry Potter, and I only own the character Rian. Everything else, fortunately, belongs to Ms. J.K. Rowling.

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><p>GPOV<p>

All around Diagon Alley, people were fixing things up. Despite the victory, everyone was in a sombre mood as they repaired their homes, shops, lives. I doubted that there was one person that had been untouched by Voldemort's reign, one person who didn't have the memory of a dead friend or family. The walk down the street seemed to take ten times longer than it ever had before, but finally I reached our shop. My shop. The entire front was defaced, leaving a clear view of the inside, which was just as broken as the inside. The brick hung down, bits of wire and stuff holding it to the main frame, so that the pieces were like deranged ivy lining the door. Everything looked exactly the same as it had two weeks ago, when Fred and I'd snuck back to catch a glimpse of it. The only damage was Death Eater damage. I slammed my hand against the brick wall with enough force to shake lose a few more bricks. An elderly witch next door glanced up, startled at the sound of bone on brick, but she simply grimaced as she saw me and shook her head sadly.

I walked into the shop, not bothering to watch my step, though there was broken glass and metal and brick galore. It was in complete disparage, so it fit my mood perfectly, and I absorbed its destruction into my already destroyed soul as my hand dripped blood onto the ground. The Death Eaters hadn't left one area of the shop intact, and every time I saw the place I wondered how long it'd taken them to destroy our charms, let alone our shop. Glancing to the left I saw the remains of the checkout stations, and pieces of paper from the charmed notebooks covered the floor. The area vaguely resembled a floor of sand. The right was nothing but destroyed shelves, all merchandise lying beneath them on the floor. The wall looked very odd barren, and I nearly repaired the shelves then and there, but I didn't care to work up the energy. So I meandered through the mess to the back. Shipments had stopped only two weeks ago, and as such there were boxes upon boxes of newly delivered items waiting to be sold.

This was the one part of the shop I hadn't been in yet. I hadn't wanted to see what we could've done, what I knew I would be doing if Fred was still here. We could have been here together, repairing shelves, sorting out merchandise, helping others in Diagon Alley...Rian would probably have been here as well, or possibly at the Ministry. I wasn't sure where she was now, as she'd lived with us, and then at the Burrow, and then Aunt Muriel's, before. I had no idea where she was staying, I'd only seen her occasionally at the Burrow, but she never stayed the night. Had I cared, I would have wondered what excuse she'd given Mum.

Home was dreadful. Harry was staying there, and while we were all...satisfied with the victory, the empty feeling of Fred, Lupin, Tonks...everyone's death hung over the place like a stubborn fog, and no one knew how to handle him being there; defeater of Voldemort and all that, but someone who'd lost just as much as everyone else. Charlie, Bill, and Percy were all home as well, and while it wasn't difficult incorporating Percy back into the family, he had a certain horrified air about him constantly, and I knew he blamed himself for Fred's death.

I probably should have blamed him, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione as well, but I couldn't, not when they didn't deserve it. That was the best I could manage, not blaming them. For the past two days I'd been there, and not out hunting for some sort of reversal for his death, I'd remained secluded in our old room, mostly sleeping a lot. There was always food when I woke up, and generally there was Mum as well. She wanted to talk, constantly, and even Dad couldn't convince her to leave when she got particularly weepy. She couldn't seem to understand that I couldn't talk about it; not that I didn't want to, or that I was refusing to, but that I literally couldn't. Because, really, what was there to say? All that there was to talk about was the aftermath of his death, and since she was a big part of how I felt about that, I couldn't even talk about that. So I'd come back here every day, returning to the house only at night, when I needed a place to sleep and something to keep my body going.

Now I stared into the wreckage of the narrow storage closet, wanting to delve into it, but still not willing to try. I leaned against the doorframe, unable to go further. I was momentarily fearful of going catatonic, but instantly decided that catatonic sounded a hell of a lot better than whatever this was.

"Not again," someone whispered softly, and my heart nearly stopped. If only it would.

Rian. I'd been coming here every day since Fred had...what right did she have to invade my space? I opened my mouth to tell her to get the hell out, but she spoke before I had the chance, and for some reason, I couldn't interrupt her.

"Fred. Why do you have to keep doing this to me?" She laughed bitterly. "Right. Why do I keep doing this to myself? This last week has been hell. Worse than hell. Actually, I'd have taken hell over living through this week again," said Rian, but not to me. She was talking to my brother, the brother who was about to be put six feet under the ground. She thought I was a figment of her imagination.

And here I was thinking that I was bad.

"I'm so sorry love, so sorry. I tried _everything_. Everything. I've looked in every source I could find…read about anything I could…but there's nothing to bring someone back from…from being gone. You know what I do Fred?" she asked, laughing a little. "I never, ever say you're…..well you know. I always say you're unreadable. I just felt like, if I spent enough time, I could 'read' you and figure out how to get you back. Like you were a—a puzzle or something. Stupid really. But it is so much easier than…than thinking you were gone."

Here Rian glanced at me finally and I saw her face streaked with tears and shadows. It was almost fulfilling seeing that, because if I could have made what I was feeling tangible, it would have matched her face. Carefully I turned to the side, hiding my missing ear.

"Don't hate me, please, but honestly, I'd give Voldemort control again…let him have the world if I could have you back. All those people, innocent people. It's so wrong. But true. I never, ever imagined that I could have felt like that and I hate myself for it. But even more than that, I wish it would have been me. It would be so much easier if it was me. You, and George, are my only real family I would leave behind. And you two would have gotten on fine without me, because you two can manage like that. But I can't do this without you. I _cannot_ go on without you," she said, her voice cracking.

I stared at her, because that was exactly how I felt, exactly how I had felt for the past week. I would have been…heartbroken if Rian had died, but that was nothing to what it was like having Fred gone. And as for Rian, she didn't realize that Fred wouldn't have been fine without her. He'd have felt like…well, I reckoned he'd feel like Rian and I felt. I knew she wished it had been me that had died in place of him. She had to wish that, because I wish I had died. I wish Rian had died. But neither of us did, and Fred was dead. He was dead, and there really was nothing we could do about it.

That didn't mean I hadn't tried. I'd tried everything I could think. I'd searched for Time Turners everywhere, even tried constructing one myself; I'd searched through books for potions and spells, but it had been one failed attempt after another. And it was comforting, in a dreadful sort of way, that someone felt the same way. That someone else hadn't just given up on him. I really was amazed at the level of love she had for my brother. Now she thought that he was here. I knew that I was listening to a private conversation. Very private. But I was still lost in thought, and my morals weren't at their best; I didn't care. This was why I'd avoided Rian more than anyone else for the past week. Every attempt I made at trying to maintain normalcy and civility went straight into the rubbish bin because every time I looked at her I saw my brother attached to her side, much as I figured people saw him by mine. Although Rian was one of the few people who separated us, I figured that she felt the same way, always waiting to see him with me.

Rian had separated us though, in ways that most people didn't. She'd allowed Fred to have his own life, to not always be 'Fred and'. With Rian, he got to be Fred. Even Fred and Rian. I half resented her for that, and half loved her for it. Because, during those times, we weren't ourselves; we weren't _The Twins_.

I got to be George. And having that time had been…overwhelming. In a good way. Now, with everyone trying to comfort me, I withdrew more and more, because I was forced to remember the difference between us more and more. People kept expecting me to replace my brother, and I was tired of it. Tired of disappointing. Tired of trying. Tired of living.

Fred and I always figured we'd go out with a laugh, we'd even joked about it when times had gotten tough. There was no way we'd be pessimistic, even if we did tempt fate a little too often. And, according to the story I'd literally wrestled out of Percy, Fred _had_ died laughing.

The only problem was, Fred had never mentioned that he'd die first.

Everyone was telling me how lucky I was, that I had so many people to go through this with. They were right. I had all the people in the world, except the one person who could have made it better. It wasn't the same; of course they all loved Fred, and they all loved me, but none of them had ever been Gred and Forge. None of them had ever _been_ a twin, much less Fred Weasley's twin. Not even my family really understood. Everyone except for Mum knew enough to leave me alone, but I knew losing Fred had only made Mum want to cling to me more and more. This was difficult for me, because I had placed myself in a category separate from everybody else. Nobody was in my little bubble, though the rest of the world seemed to be constantly attempting to pop it.

And then there was Rian.

Rian was somewhere in the middle of it all. She wasn't in my bubble, but she also wasn't grouped in with the rest of the world: she had her own little bubble that was slowly joining edges with mine. She was connected to me more than most, but she was still a question mark. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel about her, let alone what I actually did feel about her. She had a bubble all her own, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to burst it yet.

"The only thing I can keep thinking about is that day when you got that incredible white beard after you and George tried putting your names in the Goblet," cried Rian. "And how you're never going to have the opportunity to actually have that, because you're _never_ going to grow old. I wanted to grow old with you, Fred, I did. I wanted to look at your face every morning, and I wanted to squabble over prices for our children's schooling, and I wanted to have you by my side for everything, and I know you wanted that too. When I...when I told you that you'd ruined every other man for me, I meant that, dead or alive."

She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth, like a child swearing for the first time in front of their parents. "No, I didn't mean that, I swear I didn't. I didn't mean to say...that word. Because you're not. You're not!"

And then she cried. Rian wasn't a crier, at least not in front of people. Twice since I'd known her could I remember tears: once when her mother had died and she'd had to kill the Death Eater, and once when her brother had died.

This was all meant for Fred. Fred, her husband; not Fred, my twin. Fred _was_ my twin, and we had the deepest connection I knew about. But Rian had a different kind of connection, one that, I suddenly realized, went very nearly as deep. The way they'd been involved…it added another layer onto their connection that I'd never have (not that I wanted that kind of layer). And being Fred's twin gave me a layer she would never have. In a way, we were equal. And I realized that a quarter of Fred belonged to her, even though another quarter belonged to me. I wondered if Fred realized that he didn't really own himself anymore. Well, he still had half of himself…and Fred was spirited enough to make that count. Although...Fred didn't need to be worried about sharing himself anymore.

And then I sort of did realize how I felt about her. She was suffering, just as much as I was, but she didn't have anyone else to go through it with. And I knew that if I suffered with her, she'd help me, and by helping me, she'd help herself. Although, I was mostly interested in helping myself, and I knew she'd be the best person to do that.

"Rian," I said quietly. She looked up sharply and I heard her try and take a deep breath, but it sounded more like a dementor's wheeze.

"George," she said thickly, recognizing my voice immediately. "I…why didn't you say anything?" She dissolved into tears, and I felt a moment of guilt. But I wasn't about to apologize. I had nothing to apologize for. Neither of us did.

"I don't know."

"I see him all the time, in my dreams, and my nightmares." She glanced up at me, but she didn't seem angry. "I can't...I can't tell anymore. When I'm awake and when I'm asleep. I keep expecting the pair of you to walk in, and I see it so often in my mind that I just...I can't tell."

"I see him every time I look in a mirror," I said bitterly, turning away. So far, this wasn't helping.

"Am I dreaming, George?" she asked hoarsely.

"No, you're very much awake." My voice was rough, and my tone was far from kind, but Rian barely seemed to hear me.

"I don't want to be," she whispered, child-like, and I found that I couldn't resent her weakness. "I want to keep dreaming."

"I wish we both were. About this whole bloody thing."

There was a long pause. "We have to go to the funeral, don't we?" she asked quietly.

I didn't know. Did we? Should we? I hadn't wanted to, but now, as she asked, I realized that we needed to go.

"Yeah. I mean, we should. He'd be angry if we...he'd be there for us."

"It's starting soon, isn't it?" she asked, glancing at her watch. It was a Christmas present from Fred. I had a strange urge to rip it off of her wrist.

"About an hour," I said instead. She nodded, and leaned her head against the shelves, knocking a few things loose, though she didn't move as they covered her. I stepped over the debris and sat down next to her, trying to manoeuvre the crowded, small space. When she still didn't move, I sighed and began brushing things off of her. Again, this wasn't helping. I wondered if it'd been a mistake to announce my presence, but by sitting beside her, I decided I was in for the long haul.

The only time I'd ever seen her yell about Fred's death was when we were deciding where to bury him. I didn't really care one way or another. It was just a body. The spirit that was my brother was gone. Rian, however, had gone well off the deep end when that discussion had arisen, and I got the impression that she did believe his spirit was still about. After all, she'd actually thought I was my brother.

"_He's going to be buried at Bill and Fleur's," she said, slowly, trying to be calm. _

"_Dear, there's a perfectly nice cemetery near the village. There are plenty of wizards that are buried there," said Mum with puffy eyes. _

"_That isn't where he should stay," insisted Rian. "He needs to be buried on the cliff."_

"_Rian," began Bill, but she interrupted. _

"_Don't 'Rian' me," she shouted. "My husband is dead! My husband is dead, and I'm a widow at barely twenty. If none of you care, if it doesn't matter one way or the other to you, then he is going to be buried where we got married. That's where he would want. That's our place."_

_While it wasn't exactly her place to be claiming Fred, with his entire family present, nobody seemed to be able to negate any of her words. Then Fleur, who had been unusually silent during this entire discussion, broke into the silence. "Of course 'e will be buried there," she said. "There is no question."_

Other than that, the most I'd seen out of Rian was a tearful silence. I wondered if they'd made some sort of pact, secretly, that they wanted to be buried there. It seemed like something they would do, in a fit of passion. And Rian was nothing if not loyal.

"He's really gone, isn't he?" she asked now, sounding hollow.

"Yeah." There was nothing more to it. Nothing to do about it.

There was a pause.

"Why?" she whispered and her one word suddenly sent me into a frenzy.

"I don't know," I shouted at her, throwing a bottle of something away from me. It crashed into the opposite wall, knocking over yet another shelf that barely missed hitting us. A light, fruity scent filled the air, and I recognized the bottle I'd thrown to be a love potion. Rian's love potion.

"A love potion," she said bitterly. "A bloody, sodding, stupid love potion!"

Rian stood and grabbed another from the shelf above us, throwing it as hard as she could at the opposite wall. We stared at the stain on the wall, as the liquid slowly seeped down the stone. Then we were both throwing things like crazy, reaching everything we could and hammering it against the nearest surface. There wasn't nearly enough to throw to satisfy either of us, but when there was hardly anything left at all we both reached for the last love potion. Our hands froze as we touched it. We looked at each other and released the bottle and it toppled to the floor and broke as well, close enough that I could feel the pungent fumes track down my throat. Rian collapsed back to the floor first, the last contents of the very top shelf falling on her. Again she didn't flinch, but this time I covered her head as they fell.

"I'm so sorry, George," she said thickly as I sat next to her again. "I-"

"I know. You don't have to say anything. I'm dead sick of it anyway. Everyone's trying to make it sound better. Saying, 'this isn't what Fred would have wanted'," I mimicked bitterly. "Well, Fred's gone and how would they know what the hell he wanted? How are they supposed to make this better? And if they can't, then why do they even bother?"

This time she kept quiet, which actually made it easier to go on.

"It's fucked up everything. Everyone's expecting me to fill both of our places. How am I supposed to do that? We were...are twins, and I know him better than anyone, but I can't replace him! Yet everyone seems to have decided that that's my job now. They expect me to fill his hole, just say a joke and get over it."

"I don't expect you to," she said suddenly, glancing at me.

"I think you'd be one of the few to notice the difference," I said, still bitter. She curled up against the shelf.

"George, don't be too angry with them. They don't understand. It's their own way of grieving and-"

"So I'm expected to be the better person? How is that fair? I'm supposed to crack a joke and make everything better?"

Rian wiped her eyes. "I _didn't_ say it was fair. Nothing here is fair. It's not fair that he's...gone, is it? If we're trying to figure out fairness, let's go all the way back to that. But it's…it's just the way it is. No one understands what it's like to really know Fred, or you, but they recognize that too, so they just go with what they do know. They just think that...that that's your natural reflex. They assume that is what you would do to...get over it. They're all grieving for their own people as well. Imagine Colin Creevy's brother, or Tonks' parents; we won't ever really understand their grief. They all understand that we...you have it very difficult, but everyone's scared, everyone's sad. Everyone's burying someone they love; they're not trying to make you hurt more. You're entitled to hurt as much as you do, maybe even more, but we've got to try and stay normal. Grief...grief is a scary thing, and people can do scary things because of it."

"You're quite wise, aren't you?" I snapped.

"No, I've just had a bit of experience with losing people," she snapped back. "If you'd forgotten, _my_ brother died only a few months ago."

This was what I'd been hoping for. This did help. It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but it was what I needed to hear. I felt suddenly torn out of a wild animal's body, shoved back into rationale and perspective. Fred's death was only important to his family, but everybody did deal with grief differently. Just because they weren't his twin didn't mean that they didn't love him just as much. I felt suddenly ashamed of the cold demeanour I'd presented to my mother, the quiet anger I'd given the rest of my family, the way I'd listened to Rian's private conversation.

"I'm sorry," I said, now quiet. "I didn't mean to snap at you…I just…."

"I know." Rian put her head in her hands and it was quiet for a few minutes.

"Well, we'd best…go," I said finally.

Rian surfaced from her hands, and she inhaled a little breath of consent. She pushed up out of her crouch, standing wearily, and offered me her hand, offering to help me up. I stared at it, astonished. I didn't know why this little act of consideration touched me so much, but it did. Out of all the pain and anger she was feeling, even toward me, she still had her humanity, her civility. Her compassion. I took her hand and pulled myself up on it. Then I held her in my arms for a long while, for I'd felt a random burst of concern, and I wanted to be strong for her. Because she was hurting just as much as I was, and I had to remember that. She'd helped me remember me, and I couldn't forget something like that.


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own any of Harry Potter, and I only own the character Rian. Everything else, fortunately, belongs to Ms. J.K. Rowling.

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><p>RPOV<p>

We walked toward Shell cottage, but most people were already heading toward the hill that I knew housed Dobby's body, and would soon house Fred's. Fred had to be buried here. Because we'd been married here, and I couldn't imagine it any other way. And the words he'd whispered in my ear right after we were married,

"_Our place_,"

stuck in my mind. We nodded to his family, but they were already seated and we stood in the back, declining the seats they had for us. I held George's hand as we stared at the beautiful mahogany box that held Fred's body. My Fred. As I thought this, my grip tightened on George's hand. He tightened his own grip reflexively.

"We are here today to honour Frederick Gideon Weasley, a friend, a son, a brother and loved by all. A brilliant wizard, he is remembered by those who knew him best to be fun-loving and kind…"

I drifted off. The wizard speaking didn't know Fred. Fred would have scoffed at him, would have probably offered him a fake wand, and had him either laughing or storming out of the place before the ceremony even started. This man had performed more funerals in the past few days than most had performed in a lifetime. Fred was just another sad death to him. I looked up at George and felt the familiar stab of hope and then overwhelming pain. No matter how many times I'd told myself that Fred was gone, that it was only George I saw…I was always convinced that he'd turn around, and it would be Fred. But it never was.

The only person I could stand to be with right now was George. I didn't know how he felt about that, but I didn't care. It hurt ten times more to be around him, because I'd always expect to see Fred, but I also needed that reminder, to keep me sane. Every time I looked at George, I noticed everything about him that was precisely the same. Even worse, I noticed everything that was different. George wasn't a replacement, as some thought. Fred and George were more different than anyone realized; they were just so in tune with one another that everyone mistook it for being the 'same'. Both the similarities and differences made me realize that I'd never get Fred back again.

But George, despite the pain he unknowingly caused me, was the only one who didn't try to talk about it, didn't try to apologize or comfort me. He alone didn't talk about it, until this afternoon. I never tried to talk about it or comfort him either until today, and I was convinced that he appreciated it, but I knew he didn't really appreciate anything. He wanted his brother back, and I saw, every time he looked at me, a flash of hurt, because Fred was supposed to be by my side as well.

"By your side? What sort of cliché song is that from? Is it Celestina Warbeck? Don't start singing it, we'll have to save you from Fleur," said Fred. There was a gut wrenching pain in my stomach. I wished I could stop imagining his voice, stop seeing him like he was really there, but I also wished that he would never go away. He stepped in front of me, looking quite indignant. "Hey, I'm here until you force me out. But really, you two are being quite dramatic. Oh, pardon, you _three_."

I felt someone put a hand on my shoulder, and George and I turned to see Lee, arrived late. I stepped forward and hugged him.

"How are you holding up?" he asked quietly. I just shook my head. Fred snickered at what was most likely a quite pathetic display. We three turned to face the coffin again, and I stood in between them. Each took my hand, but I had to let go to cover my face as I dissolved in tears again. George and Lee were both crying, and it was like we were grasping the truth for the first time all over again.

"Merlin's beard," said Fred exasperatedly, leaning on a chair beside us. "You lot are acting like a bunch of pregnant women. Er...no offense, Ri."

I looked back up at the beautiful wooden box. I could almost see Fred springing out of it, really shocking us all. But even I knew he wouldn't take a joke this far. My jaw clenched with the effort of holding back tears, and my head was starting to pound. Finally it was too much and I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth to muffle the sobbing. George was crying too, although he still tucked me into his shoulder.

"Oy, get your hands off of my wife," said Fred to George, putting a hand on my shoulder. My whole body seemed to freeze, because his touch felt horribly and wonderfully real. "What sort of twin goes after his dead brother's girl?"

I sobbed harder. The wind was starting to blow wildly, and the words of those who were speaking of Fred were lost to the ears of those trying hard to listen. Luckily, I wasn't listening, just staring at the beautiful box that held Fred, though Fred had quite a steady stream of comments on what people were saying about him.

"Incredible," said Fred. I couldn't help but glance at him. He gestured to the speaker. "All of these people fondly remembering my pranks. None of them were this forgiving when I was alive."

I glanced at the man speaking. Filch. He had indeed hated Fred for more than a few pranks.

I wished more than anything that I could just stop this, stop this entire thing and hold him one more time. Because I knew once he was lowered into the ground, that'd be it. I'd not have opportunity or hope of reviving him. I watched as Mr. Weasley, Charlie, Bill, and Percy lifted the coffin off the platform, and it was yet another shot to my heart as they bent to lower it into the perfectly sized hole. I wanted to step forward, open it and see Fred once more. But I didn't move, and all too soon the coffin was covered over with moist dirt, and that was that.

"What a nice spot to die the rest of my death in," said Fred, admiring the view like it was a pent house in London.

"That was the point," I whispered, finally acknowledging him. George glanced at me, but didn't say anything.

"C'mon you three," said Charlie gently, approaching us. His face was streaked with tears as well. "It's time to go back to Bill and Fleur's for the wake."

"Will there be cake?" asked Fred, glancing at the house, then at me. "You can't turn down cake, Ri. It's the best part of a funeral."

I gasped in pain, remembering when "funeral" had been replaced with "birthday" only a few months ago. "It's the best part of a birthday," he'd said to me when I'd shown up late to his party. I hated how the words were tinged with death, how I'd always remember them as death.

"We'll be there in a minute," whispered George. Lee, on the other hand, followed Charlie into the house, looking as though he didn't know what else to do. Harry, Angelina, Daisy, and Hermione were doing the same. However, Charlie turned back just before reaching the house, and we joined Bill, Ginny, Ron, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley at Fred's grave.

"All the cake will be gone," said Fred mournfully as he followed.

I knelt down and forced myself to imagine Fred lying there, sleeping. Like he was in a coma, just where I couldn't see him.

"Come now," said Fred, kneeling next to me. He poked the ground with a grimace. "You can't keep putting it off. Pretty soon you'll start to show, and then where will we be? I can't stay around and help you out forever."

I ignored him, while we all stared at the fresh ground.

"Oh, don't play this card. I know you can hear me. Despite what people say, hearing voices no one else can isn't that crazy. Used to happen to me all the time," said Fred. I gave him a watery smile. "There we are. Now, tell them. They'll be fine with it, stop being so sodding scared."

_This isn't the best time_, I thought.

"Is there ever going to be a right time?" he asked kindly.

I glanced up at everyone, while Fred watched in silent approval. They gradually met my teary gaze.

"I'm pregnant." I turned to look at George, the one I was truly afraid of, and he blanched.

"Come on, idiot," said Fred to his brother, though George heard nothing. "Stop gaping at her, you had an idea of it."

"Pregnant?" mouthed Mrs. Weasley.

"Did...did he know?" asked Ginny.

"Know?" demanded Fred. "Of course I knew. They're my bleeding kids. I think I know when I procreate! Well, I knew after Angelina told me, anyway. But I knew!"

I nodded to Charlie.

"Do you know...if it's a girl or, or a boy?" asked Bill.

"Twins," I said, my voice breaking. "A girl and a boy."

"Have fun with that," said Fred mischievously. "Ah legacy."

"Twins?" asked George, finally speaking.

"Mhm," I said, because I couldn't form a real word. Nobody seemed to know what to say.

_Thanks, Fred_, I thought.

"Don't blame this on me," said Fred. "You're the one that went and shagged me. Trust me, it'll help them all."

To everyone's surprise, no one's more than mine, George pulled me up to a standing position. "I'll take care of you," he said fiercely. "Whatever you need."

"I just don't want to be alone," I whispered, and my voice broke again. Fred smiled, stepping behind George, taking my hand that was lying limp next to George's shoulder.

"He won't let you," said Fred, rolling his eyes. "None of them will. Believe it or not, they actually do like you, even when I'm not around."

Not around. He wasn't around anymore. I fought to wrap my hands around the invisible Fred's, but he dissipated like sea spray in the wind. Then he was gone, and I heard no voice but my own. And though I was the only one that heard Fred, there was some imperceptible change, and everyone was crying again.

Maybe he really had been there.


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own any of Harry Potter, and I only own the character Rian. Everything else, fortunately, belongs to Ms. J.K. Rowling.

* * *

><p>RPOV<p>

The next few months were difficult for everyone. Pregnancy wasn't easy for me, and I was bedridden for a few months, and though Fleur became pregnant as well, I was treated like a sacred vessel. I suppose because it was Fred's kids. Everyone else seemed to move on relatively well, except for George, though there were moments when there was a nearly tangible pain between everyone, noticed especially when we were all together.

George, true to his word, did stay with me quite often, though it was a while before he actually resembled himself, physically and mentally. However, finally having the twins was a wonderful distraction for everyone. I didn't meet one person who wasn't taken with them. Of course they had the Weasley hair, from the moment they were born, but both had my gray eyes, which was a very odd combination. Mrs. Weasley swore that Fin looked just like Fred, and Giselle looked just like me, but I couldn't see it, though I trusted her judgement after seven children. George visited the house every day, sometimes sleeping over. I liked to think that Fin and Giselle helped him function after Fred's death as much as they helped me, especially since he became much more cheerful once they were born. He even asked Daisy on a date, and they'd been together ever since. Actually, cheerful was a bit of an understatement. George seemed to take to the twins like he had once taken to jokes. He told his first joke since Fred died to Giselle one night when she was being particularly belligerent toward bedtime. I don't know if it was his voice, or something else, but ever since then they'd listened to George like he was a puppet master.

One night, a few years later, on the anniversary of Fred's death, Fleur invited me to her house for a stay, while Bill stayed with George. I knew they were trying to keep us away from the rest of the wizarding world, because today was a day of great celebration. Charlie, Ron, and Harry were staying with George too, and they all volunteered to watch the twins. They were nearing six, and needed looking after more than ever; they were as rambunctious as I reckoned Fred and George were when they were children.

I passed Bill as he was leaving. I saw him quite often as well, since I brought the children to visit Fred nearly once a week, if I could. He kissed my cheek and bid me a good weekend before Disapparating. I smiled before heading into the house to see a full spa laid out. Ginny and Hermione were there as well, and Fleur hurriedly informed me that Daisy and Angelina were on their way.

We had a wonderful day of it all, and stayed up late, as though we were still teenagers. Once they all fell asleep, I walked to the window and looked up at the clear sky. It was getting near spring weather, but the nights were still frigid especially near the ocean. Even so, I was itching to get outside, so I bundled myself up as tight and thoroughly as possible and made my way to the little path that led to Fred's grave. I stood by it for a moment before sitting down comfortably.

"It's been a while since it's just been us, hasn't it?" I murmured. I scooped a bit of the dirt off the ground and stuck in the orchid I'd picked from Fleur's garden.

"That's better, isn't it?" I said, pulling my knees to my chest. "Listen, Fred, I'm going to move on. I'm bringing the twins as often as possible, of course, but I'm done. I'm done grieving. I mean, I will always love you more than anyone in the world, but you're not here anymore. Just, hold on until I meet up with you again, please? Give me a chance later on, but now, here, I want to be happy again. I've been stubbornly hanging on, and it's too much. I can't live like this. Everyone else seems to be able to function, and be happy, and it's not that I don't want to hold onto you, but I can't. I can't keep going on like this, it's killing me. But I'll always love you."

"You sure you won't get tired of me?" asked Fred wryly, sitting next to me. I closed my eyes. I hadn't seen or heard him in years, hadn't mistaken my imagination for his flesh and voice. Not since his funeral. I'd dreamed about him, of course, but none so real as the apparition in front of me now. And he was quoting my own words back to me. Words from back when, deep down, I thought it impossible that either of us would die. "So this is it, eh? Alright, alright. But if you go off and find some bloke, you'd best not say a word about my flirting."

I had to pretend as though he wasn't there, because he wasn't. Not really. But I couldn't help the tears that started falling down my face.

"Ah, love, please don't cry," said Fred in a pained voice. "I don't like when you cry if I can't be there to comfort you."

"Fred," I said, turning toward him. I leaned against his chest, and it was like he really was there. He could have been there. I cried into his chest for a while, and he stroked my hair, and it was like those years without him vanished in a second. I wasn't sure how long I cried against him, how long I let him comfort me, but soon I saw the sun begin to rise, and I wiped my eyes and sat up. Fred watched sadly, seeming to know what was coming.

"Always," I continued, determinedly pushing him away, pushing him out. "No matter what happens, you have to know that I will never, ever stop loving you. There will never be a day when I don't think about you. I will remember every joke you ever told me, and I will keep this ring until the day I die, and the memories beyond that. But I'm going to give others a fighting chance. So, cheers, Fred. Goodbye for now, but we _will_ meet again."

"I love you," he whispered, and I smiled as he disappeared.

"Love you too," I whispered back, and curled up on the ground beside the body of the man I would never stop loving.


End file.
